


searching for home

by hrvstvles



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-10
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:41:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4767080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hrvstvles/pseuds/hrvstvles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Curious, he sets down the book and opens the plane, and there's something like lead in his chest, something like a weight on his shoulders. Something like love leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.</p><p>Or the one where Louis finds out what love feels like.</p>
            </blockquote>





	searching for home

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so I wrote this on a whim and it turned into something entirely different than what I expected. It's on the short side, but there is probably going to be more to come. The ending is kind of ambigious, so if I feel something nagging at me, it could potentially become a series. Let me know if you want to see what happens after this I guess!
> 
> There is a bit of Louis/Zayn at the beginning, but its pretty much platonic.
> 
> Also mild trigger warning for implications of depression. I didn't mean to write it that way but after re-reading, I feel like this is needed.
> 
> Disclaimer that this is a work of fiction!
> 
> Give me a shout on my fic tumblr changevourticket.tumblr.com or on my main if you want to talk off anon! hrvstvles.tumblr.com

They met in detention.

Louis had been caught attempting a prank on his Math teacher (involving balloons and silly string). Zayn had defamed the wall under the bleachers.

"I'm Zayn," the other boy had said, head down, scrawling in his textbook.

"I know," Louis replied simply. "Everyone knows who you are."

There's a chuckle from Zayn and he looks up, hair sweeping in a style too similar to Louis' current hairstyle. "I wish I could say the same about you. Shame, really."

Louis grins. "Name's Louis. You can call me Tommo."

Zayn drops his pencil and rubs his hands together. "Well, Tommo, I think we have some things to discuss."

 

* * *

 

Zayn introduced Louis to weed. Louis showed Zayn how to work a water gun. Together, they were an unlikely pair, and the only person they felt they could go to in the crazy zoo they called high school.

It might have been a bit weird, neither of them having many other friends. Zayn, because he was too quiet. He had an air about him that made him come off as mysterious, and there was interest in being his friend (and more), but Zayn kept his head down, his eyes glued to the paper in front of him as he drew. And drew. And drew some more.

Louis was on his own because he didn't know how to let anyone in. After Mark had left, he figured he had had enough of people leaving, of breaking limbs to make spaces for others to rest and for once, he wanted to have his own safe place to land.

In the span of a month, Zayn was his safe landing.

The day Louis' biological father called him out of the blue, the two had ditched class and took a train to London. "Come on, Tommo, don't back out on me now!" Zayn had exclaimed, running down a small alleyway hidden from the main street holding two cans of spray paint.

"This isn't Doncaster, mate!" Louis had replied, his face flushed red from adrenaline. "We'll get caught!"

Zayn rolls his eyes, setting down his backpack and passing a can to Louis. "We'll get out before they come. Just one thing, please." Zayn's eyes are pleading and Louis thinks maybe Zayn needed this day out more than Louis did.

With a sigh, Louis takes a can, pressing the nozzle down and stares at the wall, tongue out in concentration. He can hear Zayn chuckle beside him before he begins on the wall, all soft arm movements, quietly humming. Maybe Louis is staring, but this is his friend. His best friend, and there are moments, like this one, where he is so overwhelmed with feelings of gratitude that his heart begins leaking something that might be love (he isn't sure if he remembers what it means to hold someone close anymore).

Shaking his head, he takes his can and sprays a face that looks incredibly out of place next to Zayn's piece of art that looks like it belongs in a comic book. "You deserve better," is all Louis says as he stuffs the cannister back into Zayn's backpack.

"You're more than enough," Zayn replies simply without looking at Louis.

 

* * *

 

Summer comes and its a summer of aching knees and honey kissed lips. It isn't love in the all consuming sense of the word. Zayn isn't the person Louis wants to spend the rest of his life with, but Zayn feels a lot like a fire escape for his rusting heart. They lie together, limbs entwined, and for a second, Louis thinks he is worth it. He is worth something.

No, it isn't the 'rest of my life' kind of love. But it's something. It's the best he's known.

And he doesn't deserve it.

 

* * *

 

Two days go by and Louis hasn't heard from Zayn. His phone has been silent, not receiving a text, a phone call, not even a Facebook message, and Louis worries, his heart beating a bit too fast and his lungs struggling a bit to catch it's breath as he stares at his ceiling. Louis can vaguely hear his mother at the door, but he doesn't move.

Two days and Louis feels like he can't move out of his bed. Everyone leaves, he reminds himself. Everyone leaves, everyone takes care of themselves first, and he is too damaged, too scared to let anyone in, skin too marred by leaving the door open for people to walk back out.

A knock at the door pulls his eyes away from the ceiling and he wraps the blanket around his body tighter. "'M still sleeping, mum!" He calls out, even though he knows its half three and he hasn't slept past noon in two years.

"Louis, darling, Zayn is here." His mum's voice calls from the door and he can hear a shuffling of feet behind her as the door opens a crack and he peers from beneath the blanket to see a head of black hair styled with gel walking in.

Without saying a word, Zayn slips in beside Louis, and he can hear the door to his room click shut quietly. "Hey, I tried texting you."

Louis turns to glare at Zayn, picking up his phone. "No you-" he stops, seeing his phone has died, and looks back at Zayn. "Sorry."

Zayn just shakes his head, standing up and pulling Louis out of bed, not saying a word about the minion pajamas he is wearing. "Get changed."

Louis just grumbles, too tired and too thankful that Zayn hadn't forgotten about him to fight it. He slips into a pair of black jeans and a simple white Vans t shirt.

"Where are we going?" He asks, pulling a beanie over his head and grabbing an autumn jacket from the hangers. He avoids his mum's eyes as he walks behind Zayn (this is the first time he has left his room for two days and he can't look and see the sadness he knows is sitting on her face).

Zayn doesn't say anything, just grabs Louis' arm and they walk to the Malik flat that is only two houses down.

Louis expects it to look the same. All brown trim and perfectly groomed hedges outside the door, but there is a person standing outside. He's tall, or at least, taller than Louis, and his hair sits in curls on top of a slightly angular face.

"This is Harry. He, uh, used to stay with us every summer. Our mum's are great friends and he just kind of surprised us a couple days ago. Bit like a kitten, really," Zayn says, smiling like a buffoon, and Louis can feel a knife in his back because he has never gotten a smile like that from Zayn. He's never gotten a smile like that from anyone except his mum.

Louis shrinks back, standing on the pavement. Only five minutes earlier, he had been ecstatic, he had been able to breathe.

It wasn't love, what he felt with Zayn. But it was something like home, and he is being reminded that he was only a vacation stop.

"Lou, you alright?" Zayn can see Louis hasn't taken a step forwards, and he reaches out, but Louis grins, plastering on his smile he has mastered since the day Mark left and puts his hand out, expecting Harry to shake it, but he is met with a disdainful look and a simple _hello_ that is too drawn out to be friendly.

Everyone leaves. But he hadn't been expecting it this time.

 

* * *

 

Summer flies by too quickly. Louis spends a lot of time with Liam, one of his mum's friend's kids and finds a sort of friendship with the boy. It isn't the friendship he had with Zayn, and after the Harry fiasco, he finds himself shutting down a bit more after that. His mum asks where Zayn is, and Louis replies with a shrug of his shoulders and a noncommittal 'I'm seeing him this weekend," but it's never the same.

They don't lie in silence anymore because Harry is always there. When Zayn breaks out his spray cans, its to go to the garage, not take a train to London, and Harry is always there on a couch, headphones in his ears.

Sometimes, Louis finds him staring, not at Zayn, but at him, and the eyes burn marks in Louis' back. He can almost imagine Harry looking at the scars, the marks everyone has left when he held on too tight to keep them from leaving, and maybe there's something like regret in his voice when he asks Harry if he needs water when Zayn drags Harry into his house. Maybe, sometimes, Louis feels like he is keeping Zayn around to keep himself from falling apart, but he can't give up on the only person who has kept him from drowning.

It isn't love. It has never been love.

But sometimes, Louis wonders if his heart had the signals mixed up.

 

* * *

 

Liam's family accepts an exchange student, some Irish kid named Niall who is nothing but a mess of blond hair and energy, but he fits seamlessly with the little group they have made.

Louis gets the impression that he doesn't know what it's like to lie in bed and stare at your skin, wondering what it would be like if you weren't yourself. If maybe, you were someone who felt you were worth it. No, Niall doesn't know what it is like to feel like you have a minefield heart and hands made for breaking.

But Niall makes him smile, and he makes Harry do something more than grunt. In fact, Louis doesn't think he has ever heard Harry laugh, not even when Zayn tries to tell a lame joke, and it sounds so deep, so _melodic_ that Louis takes a step back and bumps straight into Zayn.

"He's sticking around," Zayn says, his hand gripping into Louis' arm, and Louis hopes it leaves marks, to remind himself this is real. Zayn is still here. To remind himself that in this moment, he is happy.

Louis nods, tearing his eyes away from the movement of Harry's Adam's apple bobbing with each sound of his laugh. "That must be nice."

Zayn looks at him, searching, his eyes flicking around Louis' face and Louis isn't sure what he is looking for, but he hopes to God Zayn doesn't find it. "Yeah, it is."

 

* * *

 

School starts, but Louis doesn't go on his first day. He spends it in front of the toilet while his mum makes him tea. Liam visits him after school, tells him he finally built up the guts to ask out Sophia and pulls out the story that while he was asking her out, Perrie had asked Zayn to their Winter Formal.

Louis nods noncommittally, knowing that if Zayn has a girlfriend that Louis will see even less of him and he wants to curl into himself, but Liam doesn't leave. Instead, he looks behind him and Harry walks in.

"Zayn said you and I are in the same English class, so I brought your work." His voice is low and he speaks at an agonizingly slow pace.

"Uh, thanks." Louis sits up, resting his head against the backboard, taking the papers from Harry's outstretched hand. He fully expects him to leave, but its Liam who gets up, while Harry stands awkwardly in the middle of the room. Louis raises a brow pointedly.

Harry sighs, crossing the room and sitting on the bed. "I'll help you get the assignment done."

Louis is too shell shocked (Harry is speaking to him?? Without Zayn??) to say no.

 

* * *

 

One act of kindness, and Harry is spending more time at Louis' than he is at Zayn's. Liam and Sophia have their first date and Liam is over at Zayn's with the rest of the group after it happens (Perrie sitting in Zayn's lap the entire time the story is told), but Louis doesn't feel the knife in his back anymore.

He feels the sun radiating in his direction each time Harry smiles.

 

* * *

 

_"Can you believe how big the moon is tonight?"_

**It's a full moon, curly**

_"But it's huge. Makes me want to sleep outside tonight."_

**So do it.**

_"Can't sleep outside by yourself, Lou. That isn't romantic."_

**Who said anything about romance.**

_"Come on."_

Louis doesn't know what makes him tiptoe out of the house (he doesn't want to wake anyone). He writes a note for his mum, leaving it on the table in case she wakes up and worries about him. If anything, she will call him.

When he looks up, he grins. The moon is huge, but it has always made him feel safe, and Louis knows he let that slip during one of his English study sessions with Harry. There's something about the light it gives off. Not nearly as out there as the sun, but still there, just a gentle reminder that the world is big, and even if he fucks up, he's a small part in the grand scheme of things.

There is comfort, in the night.

But even more comfort in Harry.

He's at Harry's flat, and Harry is standing in front of his own door looking ten shades of nervous, hands out in the open because his pajamas don't seem to have pockets. Louis grins when he sees Harry check his phone and grin at Louis' final response.

"Well. I can't promise any romance, but I can ensure that you will get a lot of snoring tonight," Louis says with a laugh, stepping beside Harry.

Loius thinks Harry's grin might break in half, or that the sun will get jealous because all Louis wants is to orbit Harry and that damn puppy dog look he has going on.

"You looked off at school and I remember you talking about the moon a couple weeks ago." Harry shrugs, but Louis feels something tugging at his heart at the words. Harry listens.

"So you thought, hey, let's lie under the stars! You've been watching too many movies with Niall, methinks." Louis laughs, but follows Harry's lead anyways.

He still isn't sure why he's here, but since the first day of school, he has been seeing more and more of Harry. Not just in class, and not with the other lads, but one on one.

It started out with studying. Harry, it turns out, was ace at English and Math, both of which Louis found difficult to concentrate on.

After a week, their study sessions had turned into something else. Conversations. Sneaking onto the roof and smoking (or Louis smoking and Harry grimacing).

Its at night that Louis can pretend he isn't crumbling.

Harry lies down in the grass, hands clasped under his head, and Louis follows his lead. "You didn't think to bring blankets?" He questions, but Harry shakes his head, pointing to the side of his flat.

Louis gets up and grabs the duvet, not mentioning that there is only one.

Tonight, Louis feels brave.

Tonight, Louis feels safe.

Gently, he places the blanket on Harry and slides in beside him, leaving room between them, of course, but he places his hands behind his head, mirroring Harry and sighs.

"Can't see this in London, can you." It isn't a question. Louis knows you can't see the sky in London because of the lights, but he has to say something to break the silence.

Silence leaves too much room for his thoughts.

Harry shrugs, or shrugs as much as one can while lying down. "Can't see much of anything in London." There's a trace of something in Harry's voice that Louis can't quite place.

"Miss it?" He prods. He feels he has opened up more than he meant to, and tonight he wants to know more about Harry.

Harry pauses. "No." He turns onto his side, facing Louis, and Louis turns his head. "I miss my friends, yeah. But it feels better here. Can't really explain it, but it just feels like this is where I should have been all this time, you know?"

Louis nods, but he isn't entirely sure what Harry is talking about. He doesn't know where he belongs, where he fits, what his future is. "You really should write a book, Harry."

Harry laughs, loud, the sort of laugh that is contagious and Louis smiles. "It wasn't that funny!" He exclaims which only makes Harry stop and stare. "What, do I have something on my face? I was eating before you texted me." Louis is patting his face and wiping at his mouth, but there is something about the way Harry is looking at him that has his stomach doing somersaults.

"I like it when you smile," is all Harry says and Louis pauses.

"I smile all the time," he insists.

But Harry shakes his head. "No, not like that. This is different, your eyes are crinkling."

Louis can't find his voice. "Harry," is all he can manage to find out, and maybe this is it. Maybe this is his body breaking, maybe Harry's name is the only language he remembers but Harry is reaching out and Louis is leaning into the touch, head resting on Harry's shoulder.

They don't say anything after that, but the beat of Louis' heart says it all.

It isn't the night that makes him feel safe, after all.

It's Harry.

 

* * *

 

Zayn doesn't forget about Louis. They spend each spare together in the library, attempting to build the perfect paper airplane to throw at Ms. Moonlack while Niall spends the eighty minutes laughing in the corner at the two of them.

"Bloody idiots, the two of you are," Niall exclaims, proudly holding up his own paper airplane as Harry strolls in, hands sitting comfortably in his pocket.

"You just have to one up us, don't you, Nialler," Louis says with a wink, and he is brought back to the time in summer when he didn't think he had ever known happiness until then.

Now, though? Now he can feel happiness wrapping her warm arms around him and he thinks 'summer has never known warmth like this.'

Harry stands over Niall's table and Zayn raises a brow at him, a motion that Louis notices, but ignores. A few seconds later, there is a paper airplane gliding towards Louis and hitting him straight on the head.

"Show off," Louis mutters, taking the plane and is about to crush it when Zayn places his own hand on top of Louis' and gives him a look that, for once, Louis can't decipher. He is about to open his mouth, but is interrupted when Harry and Niall walk out, their arms wrapped around each other, heads together in a hushed whisper that seems so out of character for Harry that Louis feels the tip of that knife again.

It isn't love. It isn't love. He isn't sure he even likes Harry Styles.

He puts up with him. Might consider him an acquaintance.

But it isn't worth the knife in his back, right?

 

* * *

 

Zayn comes up to Louis as he stands at his locker, holding the paper airplane in his hand. "You forgot this."

Louis shrugs, pulling out a textbook. "It's just a plane, Zayn," he says, lips turning down in a frown.

Zayn sighs loudly, shoulders slumping. "Just look at it, would you." He drops the plane in Louis' locker. It lands on it's side, and Louis is able to make out a bit of writing inside.

Curious, he sets down the book and opens the plane, and there's something like lead in his chest, something like a weight on his shoulders.

Something like love leaving a bitter taste on his tongue.

 

* * *

 

"The wanker asked me to the Winter Formal!" Louis sits on Liam's bed, head in his hands, Niall and Liam staring at each other in disbelief.

"That's a bad thing?" Liam asks slowly, and Louis glares at him.

"It is a terrible thing!"

 

* * *

 

Louis doesn't speak to Harry after that, except to mumble a soft 'I cant' when he takes his seat next to Harry in their English class. He doesn't look at Harry, but can see his shoulders slump a bit out of the corner of his eye, and he wants to pick at the scars, wants to tell himself that he is worth something. He is worth this curly haired boy sitting next to him, he deserves to feel a smile again, but truth be told, he hasn't smiled since the airplane.

Maybe he's selfish. Maybe he should give it a chance with Harry, but Louis isn't sure he can handle someone walking out the door when it feels like he has finally learned how to pick up the pieces that were left over the floor the last time someone left.

And he knows he should give Harry a reason. He should tell Harry about his dad, about Mark, about the boy at summer camp three years ago. He should tell him how Zayn was his first real friend, but he hadn't realized home could be another person until Harry walked into his room with English homework the first day of school.

He should tell him about how his hands finally stopped shaking when Harry said his name.

Instead, he sits through class, head down, never having been so focused in class ever.

 

* * *

 

Louis doesn't go out that weekend. He tells Zayn it's because he feels sick, but what he means is 'Harry makes me feel like living and I can't have that.'

It's not the first time Louis has missed a party, but it is the first time he has spent the night curled on the couch with his mum. The two have always been close. They had to be, especially after Mark left. His sister's have gone to bed, and there is an episode of Sherlock on the television. Louis isn't paying attention to it, though. His eyes are glued to his phone as Liam sends him text after text, begging him to go to the party.

When the texts stop, Louis breathes a sigh of relief. Liam shouldn't be focused on him. He should be with Sophia, focused on her. On his relationship.

Louis' mum doesn't ask questions, just makes him tea and lets him hog the couch. It isn't often he spends time at home anymore. He doesn't look at her either, knowing he will see too much behind her eyes and he doesn't want to make her feel guilty.

He isn't her fault.

He is the result of his own doing. Allowing himself to wade in his own unhappiness.

There's a knock on the door and his mum answers it, hushed whispers before she is looking back at him. "It's Harry, love."

Louis pulls the blanket up to his chin. His attire isn't exactly friendly for Harry (it's five times too big), but he nods anyways. Even if he said no, he would get a phone call in five seconds.

"Why aren't you out?" Louis asks, determined not to look at Harry, but at a spot on the wall just to the left of the curls.

"You didn't." Harry answers like its the simplest answer in the world, and Louis catches himself glancing at Harry. He looks small, like how Louis feels.

Louis just shakes his head. "That shouldn't matter, Haz." The name slips out before Louis can catch it and he wishes when putting himself back together, he had stitches his mouth shut too.

The small name, a sign of endearment, seems to give Harry a reason to move, and he crosses the room in three steps, crouching down in front of Louis. "It does. It does matter, Lou."

Happiness has always been fleeting. There one minute, gone the next. Some days, Louis feels like he is dancing in technicolor, the next he is filling his lungs with water again.

But Harry has him reaching for shore.

"Give us a chance, Lou." There's something so sincere in Harry's eyes, his voice a rumble that hits Louis' chest.

This. This might be love.


End file.
